


Phantom State of Mind

by SophinaBlackwood



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 03:09:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10608051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophinaBlackwood/pseuds/SophinaBlackwood
Summary: “That match was two years ago,” Ziggler whispered, eyes incredulous and voice hoarse, like his whole world had just shattered under him.





	

When Neville woke up, he had no idea where he was.

Which, to be fair, wasn’t an uncommon feeling, when one travelled as often as he did. Neville let his feet dangle off the edge of the bed, pawing for his glasses but didn’t put them on immediately. He squinted for the bathroom door, which was at the far side of the large hotel room. Neville found that surprising. He didn’t usually book himself suites unless it was WWE fronting the bill for a tour, or something.

 _Oh that’s right_ , Neville nodded, crossing the large room to the bathroom, _I am on tour._ He left his glasses by the basin and turned on the faucet, enjoying the soothing sound of running water as he let it warm up, rubbing the sleep from his hazy vision. Honestly, after Raw the night before, he expected to feel much more achy all over but he felt perfectly fine, aside from a stiff twinge in his left ankle, as if he’d sprained it. _Strange_ , he thought, rolling the ankle until the joints were no longer rigid.

With the water just above lukewarm, he splashed his face but some of the droplets did not quite reach his jawline. Curiously, he looked at himself in the mirror, to find a strange dark mass around the bottom half of his face. When he squinted and leaned closer, his short-sightedness discovered that the dark mass was an unkempt, overgrown beard.

“AHH?!” Neville cried out, physically jumping back from himself as if he were a different person, then quickly fumbled for his glasses, pushing them on. _What the bloody heck?!_ He stared in the mirror, water dripping from his cheeks into his beard. _His beard_?! He’d never had a beard in his entire life and now he looked like he hadn’t shaved for over a year.

“Babe, are you alright?” A different voice said, making Neville’s hair stand on end and his stomach tighten like he was about to be the victim of a break and entry. A man appeared at the bathroom door- a very naked man- rubbing his chin tiredly, though his brow was creased with concern.

“AHH!!” Neville cried out a second time, two revelations hitting him like a lariat that turned his mind inside out. First, that the unclothed man was _Dolph Ziggler_ , who he’d just wrestled the night before, and secondly, _that_ he _was also stark bloody naked_. “What are ya doin’ in me room!?” Neville threw two hands over himself to be decent and the gesture made Ziggler’s face contort with hurt for some reason, his posture suddenly less comfortable. The situation was very, very strange and Neville could feel Ziggler’s scrutiny on him.

“Oh, so it’s _your_ room now?” Ziggler retorted light-heartedly, though the concern in his eyes betrayed his tone. “One day it’s ‘ _what does one man need with five bedrooms_ ’ and now you own the place, huh?”

Neville stupidly looked down, seeing the full beauty of Ziggler’s gorgeously lean torso, his narrow hips, and abdomen clenched with tense breaths. His body, despite being masculine through and through, was insultingly delicate. Neville’s eyes snapped back up to Ziggler’s. _What is wrong with me?_ he asked himself, feeling dirty, breath uneven.

Ziggler was extremely uncomfortable now, and Neville realised it was because he’d let the question hang in the air. “Are you okay?” he asked, looking Neville up and down with undisguised concern. He took a step forward and Neville reactively took one back, making Ziggler freeze. “What’s going on?”

“What are you doing in my hotel room?” Neville enunciated carefully, trembling with anger and perhaps also a degree of fear.

“We’re in my house,” Ziggler replied, wounded.

“I-” Neville’s shoulders seized up. But they couldn’t be in Dolph Ziggler’s house. They were currently on tour in England. “Bu- But we just had a match last night.”

Now Ziggler seemed just as confused as Neville was. “Babe, we’ve haven’t had a match since--”

The pet-name made Neville’s skin scrawl. “Don’t call me that,” he hissed, now wanting to hug himself, close up in a ball and wait for this bizarre dream to be over. Unfortunately, he couldn't- he refused to take his hands from between his legs.

“What the fuck is going on with you?!” Ziggler’s voice rose, suddenly agitated. “What year do you think is it is if we’re having matches together?!”

“I did the 450 splash off the barricade on you, remember? Then, Sheamus beat the tar out of us?” Neville answered honestly, though he felt it redundant. Apparently, it wasn’t redundant when Ziggler stared back at him as if he’d gone properly insane. “... _what_?”

“That match was two years ago,” Ziggler whispered, eyes incredulous and voice hoarse, like his whole world had just shattered under him. Neville no longer knew who was telling the truth, but considering the unbelievable fact that both men had assumedly just slept in the same bed, how comfortable Ziggler had been undressed in front of him, and the length of the beard on his face, his stomach sunk to believe Ziggler.

After a long silence, Neville felt overwhelmed by the space and the thickening air, so he said, “Could we at least get decent?”

Pause. “Whatever,” Ziggler agreed in a deflated tone, turned and the bathroom door shut abruptly.

Neville felt decidedly awful and didn’t want to leave the room immediately, in case Ziggler took his time getting dressed. He had a shower instead, figuring the homeowner wouldn't mind. The shower was large and modern, with no door and a lavish showerhead that glittered with LEDs when the water was turned on. Neville scrunched his nose, unable to imagine a world where he’d ever be okay living so shallow-minded.

The toiletries, however, suggested he _had_ occupied the house long-term, with his favorite products intermixed with more expensive brands that he would never have chosen for himself unless given to him as a gift. Beside the collection was a selection of what he assumed to be Dolph’s toiletries, all with fancy couture brand names except for one unmarked bottle with a separated mixture. Curiously, Neville shook the bottle and gave it a smell, surprised by the warm aroma of honey, olive and lemon. The aroma made his memory twinge strangely, like it was trying to recall something that didn't exist, and he placed it back quickly ad if it had burned his hand.

Neville switched the water off and was disheartened to realise that the shower did not help him remember, or even make him feel better. After drying himself, he threw a towel around his waist and ventured back out into the bedroom. Thankfully, Dolph was not to be seen and Neville had a moment to digest the room. It was far too big for Neville to consider appropriate, the space so giant that the bed seemed dwarfed against the far wall, despite being a four poster californian king.

Near the bed was an open door, which looked like it led into a walk-in closet. Inside were more clothes and shoes than Neville had ever seen in his entire life. However, there was a small section of polo shirts, sweatpants and slacks that looked like they definitely didn’t belong to Dolph. Neville let his fingers browse the shirts as if he were in a boutique and was taken aback by some of the brands. Ralph Lauren, Solfire, Lacoste, even a couple Fred Perry’s. Neville decided on one that didn’t have a logo and matched it with some Adidas sweatshorts.

As he made his way back into the bedroom, a kaleidoscope effect was thrown on the wall, something or other catching a patch of sun through a slit in the blockout curtains. Neville followed the refraction of light, his eyes coming to a pause on an odd looking purple championship title that he’d never seen before. He moved cautiously towards it, his chest pounding with anticipation. It was the sideplates that he saw first, the visage of the Union Jack beneath his own logo- in the center, unbelievably, was his name. Neville ran his thumb over the embossed letters. _I’m dreaming,_ he decided, _This is definitely a dream. I’ll wake up soon and--_

But he didn’t finish the thought, picking up the title in both hands and seeing the front plate. Cruiserweight Champion, it said, with a striking design of a globe that reminded him of the Intercontinental Championship- his very favourite Championship. “It’s gorgeous,” he said to himself, hearing his voice crack slightly. It truly was, and it was very overwhelming, too. Neville felt the urge to put it on, but he felt like that would be pushing the limits of his emotional state too much, and he didn’t want to wake up from this dream just yet.

 _Hopefully I’m safe if I just admire it_ , he thought, tracing the lines in the metal design. A thought struck him, and he beamed, unable to help the moisture that formed as he blinked.

_The purple matches my ring-gear._

 

* * *

 

The dull sizzle of pancake batter against an oiled pan was a calming salve for Dolph’s nerves. He placed the homemade mix on the counter, even though he would have rathered smash it to a thousand pieces, much like his heart had when Neville stared at him like he was a complete stranger.

Dolph stared into the pan as if it held answers for Neville’s bizarre loss of memory. Maybe a year ago he would have thought Neville was having him on, but not now. Not with how many hours Dolph had studied and admired the miniature of Neville’s expressions, his dry humour and his mannerisms. Dolph closed his eyes and was confronted with the image of Neville’s face, genuine fear and anger in his expression, and the way he jerked back when Dolph had tried to approach him- to comfort him.

If the last thing Neville remembered was their match in England two years ago, then he wouldn’t remember them teaming up for a couple months thereafter, to combat Sheamus and Bad News Barrett. Neville wouldn’t remember the night immediately following the Money in the Bank match, how he felt so guilty for punching Dolph on top of the ladder and letting his desire for the briefcase cloud his integrity. He was such a sweet boy back then. He also wouldn’t remember how he accidentally confessed in a tempest of confusing emotions and ambitious disappointment. Dolph’s feelings for Neville had been pre-conceived then, and he remembered saying something aloof and tongue-in-cheek which just made the whole situation worse. Feeling like a complete ass, Dolph had tried to make it up to him by sending Neville super cliche gifts to his hotel room from a ‘secret admirer’. Neville, for whatever reason, decided to choose Dolph as his confidant about these anonymous gifts, which only encouraged Dolph to send bigger and more lavish statements of affection, just so he could be present for the reaction. Of course, Neville had done his fair share of snooping and discovered that it was Dolph after all, but didn’t tell him he knew, just to bleed Dolph’s bank account dry. It was that bit of British trickery that made Dolph realise he couldn’t lie to himself about how much he’d been seduced by Neville any longer.

Dolph poured in the batter for the next pancakes then made the conscious decision to do something impulsive. He took his phone from the counter and rang Nikki Bella, his ex-girlfriend. She was still in his speed dial.

“Nick?” she answered after only two dial tones. The pet name brought back such vivid memories of the past that it made Dolph feel immediately sick, and he hung up, feeling a sick pit of regret in his stomach. _You’re a stupid man. A stupid, stupid man_. When he flipped the pancakes, Nikki was ringing him back.

“Nikki! What’s up, buttercup?” Dolph answered after clearing his throat, making it seem like it was Nikki who was calling him out of the blue.

“Huh? Nick? You just called me?” she asked in a spaced out tone. The memory came to Dolph when Nikki had figured out that Nicolas was his middle name. _Ha-ha, Nick and Nikki!_ he recounted in his mind, a shiver running up his spine. She always- and still- thought that was so humorous.

“Oh, I did?” Dolph lied, “Probably a butt-dial. Guess my ass really wants to talk to you, huh?”

“Ugh, whatever,” Nikki sighed, and Dolph could _hear_ her eye roll. After a pause, she added with concern, “Are you sure you’re okay? You sound kinda weird.”

“I’m fine,” Dolph said quickly, feeling a guilty blush heat his cheeks. “You just go enjoy your new fiance, alright? What are you doing wasting time talking to me? Hop to it, darlin’. Don’t want to keep _John_ waiting.”

“You’re the worst,” Nikki said into the receiver, but she laughed. “But I will, thanks. Same to you. But not John, obviously. Say hi to that cutie Nevs for me.”

Dolph made a small, strangled noise. “I will. Bye Nicole,” he added so quickly, it overlapped with his hesitation and he desperately hoped it didn’t give him away. Nikki laughed nervously and said her goodbyes before hanging up. Nikki was very kind and wore her heart on her sleeve, but also liked to insert herself into other people’s lives to play psychologist. The last thing Dolph needed was Nikki randomly showing up at his doorstep with an overnight bag, only to discover Dolph’s beau had lost his recollection of their entire relationship.

“I was the Cruiserweight Champion?”

Dolph’s attention was ripped from the pancakes and his thoughts, up to where Neville was standing, tentatively, at the border of the kitchen. Neville’s eyes were imploring, like he didn’t truly believe it, and Dolph felt his all the ill-feelings from his foolish phone call dissipate into bliss. “ _Are_ ,” Dolph corrected, and couldn’t help a proud grin, “A damn good one too. The best ever, in my opinion.”

“They brought back the cruiserweights?”

Dolph nodded to confirm it. “Just like you always wanted. Now you’re the king of them all.”

Despite a blank look on Neville’s face, morning sunlight flooded in through the window, highlighting all of his best angles. Those divine angles. “King? That’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?” Neville said.

Dolph shook his head. “You’re cruiserweight royalty, _ba_ \--” He managed to cut himself off before he said the pet name, but Neville heard it coming and flinched. The air around them became tight and suffocating, even in the spacious, luxurious kitchen, and Dolph nearly forgot to take the pancakes off the pan before they burned.

“You really don’t remember anything at all?” Dolph asked, holding his breath, beginning to feel a little desperate.

“Nope,” Neville shook his head tersely, keeping his eyes on the ground.

“Well, I made pancakes,” Dolph said in a sing-song tone, to try lighten the mood. Neville looked up with a touch of hopefulness and that tweaked a smile at the corner of Dolph’s mouth. _So, you haven’t forgotten everything_ , he thought to himself, which was immediately succeeded with the many memories of them stopping for midnight diner pancakes when they used to ride together before the draft- memories that Neville would no longer remember.

“Golden syrup,” Neville said in a small voice, and he was at the dining table now, leaning over to pick up the tub of British treacle. “How did you--” he trailed off, glancing up to Dolph with wonder.

It had been a long time since Dolph had seen that kind of innocence in Neville’s eyes, and his heart stuttered in his chest. The kinds of looks that Dolph had fallen head over heels for in the first place, all those many months ago. “Your Mom always sends us a pot for your birthday,” he explained, then frowned when Neville flinched.

“We’ll have to get to the bottom of this, Ziggler,” Neville said formally, putting the pot down. “It’s all very.. unsettlin’.”

“You can call me Dolph, ya’know,” Dolph offered calmly, but his mind was running fast. It was upsetting to have Neville’s attitude change reversed so abruptly; all the emotional hard work that had gone into their friendship, then romance; their ups and downs. All of it tossed to the void.

“Okay,” Neville said uncomfortably, then sat down. Dolph put the plate of homemade pancakes in the microwave to heat them up, his stomach clenching at the silence. Neville slid into a chair which was already set with a placemat and plate, apparently not remembering that it was Dolph’s usual seat. Neville hated it because the sun would reflect off the pool in his eyes. Dolph didn’t mind because he had no qualms about wearing sunglasses indoors- Neville did.

“I’ve decided,” Dolph began, setting the pancakes down in the middle of the table and taking Neville’s usual seat. “I’m going to get you back to normal. We’ve got nearly three full days and two nights together until we have to fly out for live events. Before Saturday lunch, you’ll have all your memories back. I promise you.”

“How ya gonna do that?” Neville asked genuinely.

“I don’t know yet,” Dolph mused, loading up his plate and drizzling his favourite no-sugar maple syrup over the top. _How do they do it_ , he wondered, marveling at a saturated piece of pancake on his fork before popping it in his mouth. He was worried, but he wasn’t _too_ concerned- these were the usually of things that usually sorted themselves out, right?

“Maybe there’s a trigger?” Neville suggested across the table.

“Maybe,” Dolph echoed. “I guess I’m gonna have to get creative.”

Neville frowned. “Warn me first before you do anything daft?”

“Duh,” Dolph winked.

Neville seemed to smile in spite of himself, enamoured with Dolph’s unique brand of charm. “Ack,” he abruptly grimaced, holding a hand up to shield his eyes. “Can we switch? That sunlight in me eyes is garbage.”

Dolph flicked his sunglasses down from his hairline and chuckled lightly. “Sure.”

 

* * *

 

Dolph’s mansion was ridiculous but Neville couldn’t deny that he enjoyed exploring it. The driveway was long and winding, making the house seem like it was a secret clubhouse, even though it was right in the middle of Paradise Valley, Phoenix. In the front driveway, Dolph and Neville’s cars were parked side by side, next to a fountain. The house itself had a rendered exterior, and while it wasn’t ultra-modern or avant-garde, it had probably been built within the last ten years. The rooms seemed to go on and on, with little hallways and mysterious alcoves that made Neville feel like a child again, whenever he had the rare opportunity to explore a large house for the first time.

Neville eventually found himself in Dolph’s study, and ran his fingertips across the spines of the large bookshelves. It was surprising how well read Dolph seemed to be, and as Neville glanced out of the window, draped with sheer curtains. He could see Dolph out by the pool, soaking up the sun. It was just where he said he’d be, currently laid out on a recliner in the blinding Phoenix heat- apparently this was his creative idea of getting Neville ‘back to normal’. He was reading what seemed to be biography of a politician. The choice of book seemed odd until Neville scanned the walls to find a framed degree in political science and a selection of thank you certificates from American deaf societies.

 _You are a closed book of wonders, aren’t you?_ Neville smiled, glancing back out the window.

Dolph put down the book and picked up his phone, glancing up to distractedly watch the clouds in the perfectly blue sky. Inwardly, Neville felt a pang of distress. _What’s he talking about? Who’s he talking to?_ Neville thought desperately. It occurred to him he felt comparable to a bird in a cage, unable to escape. Except he could leave, whenever he wanted, he knew that. But it was very much evident that he for some reason lived in this ridiculous house with that equally ostentatious man.

“Dolph Ziggler, though?” Neville asked himself. It wasn’t such a stretch that he could have fallen for Ziggler, with his contagious confidence and I-do-what-I-want outlook on life. Of course he was also head over heels gorgeous, and Neville felt ridiculous when he realised he was sighing hopelessly at him out of the study window, so he turned around and ran a finger over the slightly dusty desk instead.

No, what was more unfathomable is how Ziggler liked _him_. And not just that, it seemed like Dolph Ziggler was very much in love with him. Neville had never been great at relationships. The first boy he lost his virginity to had been a high school sweetheart from Newcastle, and they had quite a juvenile relationship, in hindsight. It ended messily after Neville had a drunken night with another lad from his ice hockey team who he’d always had a bit of a thing for but thought was way out of his league. Turns out that lad had only slept with him on a dare, though it very much seemed like he enjoyed Neville’s company at the time. Still, heart-broken, alone and hating the suffocation of Newcastle, Neville fled to Europe and eventually America to pursue his career.

His friends in Japan had never turned their nose up at his sexuality, but had persuaded and eventually forced him to try a gay male massage service. The sex had been fine, even if he needed some muscle relaxants to aid the nerves, but it had not been enough to stir Neville’s passions, no matter how attractive or talented the masseur was. Neville figured he was just not interested in sex unless there was some kind of romantic or lustful attraction. Which was fine, he told himself often, as it gave him the chance to focus on his craft more than the majority.

From then on, his own urges had always been infrequent. There were all of three boys in the industry he had been interested in. The first he barely spoke to because he was so charismatic and wonderful and Neville’s throat closed up whenever he got within ten feet of him. The second wasn’t interested back. The third, which had been a relationship with Corey Graves, ended abruptly when Finn Balor showed up at the performance center. Balor was a haze of sex appeal and mysteriousness- perfect for Corey- and in the end it didn’t matter how wonderful his relationship with Neville had been, because Corey never came back.

“You’ve always loved this room, for some reason.” Dolph’s voice came through the door and Neville realised he’d been staring at the desk for so long that he’d gone cross-eyed.

“Probably because it gives so many clues to what ch’yer like on the inside,” Neville said with a small shrug. Dolph looked surprised for a moment, then smiled to himself, discarding the book he had been reading on a nearby armchair.

“And what’s that, you think?” Dolph asked, tilting his head in a way that was frustratingly attractive.

“I suppose yer a lot more booksmart than you let on,” Neville answered, “And a bit of a philanthropist, surprisingly.” Dolph suppressed a grin at this, but Neville just felt overshadowed. He didn’t have university degrees to speak of, and had never helped deaf communities or anything of the like of his own good will. Even in wrestling, he wasn’t considered the best of all time, despite how hard he trained. Those kinds of accolades were reserved for the likes of Daniel Bryan, AJ Styles, Shinsuke Nakamura, even Sami Zayn.

His own thoughts hung in the air, more hostile and nasty than he intended them to, but he couldn’t help it when he thought about Sami beating him for the NXT Championship not so long ago. Well, not so long in his mind. _What on earth could Sami be up to in 2017?_ Neville wondered, and it was a sobering thought.

“You forgot athletically gifted too,” Dolph interrupted Neville’s inner monologue, pointing to a small cabinet of amateur wrestling awards which Neville had somehow not seen during his initial inspection of the room. The crowning jewel was a Kent State certificate which awarded the most career wins in the team’s history. Even Dolph was the best of all time at something.

“I wanted to ask something,” Neville said.

Dolph’s eyebrows raised hopefully. “Anything.”

“Where’s my phone? Assuming phones haven’t become little chips in our brains yet since I’ve seen you with one, so I should have one too. Where is it?”

A pained expression crossed Dolph, and he looked altogether guilty. “I hid it,” he admitted.

“ _What_?” Neville said, through his teeth, feeling a sudden, powerful anger course through him. “That’s _my_ property.” He walked right into Dolph’s personal space, and shoved him without thinking.

Dolph looked extremely hurt, reflexes prevailing to grasp Neville’s wrists as he went to shove him for a second time. “I know,” Dolph said, chest rising and falling quickly, “I _know_. But I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“And why’s that?” Neville spat.

“Because I want to get you back to normal, and remember things again, and I don’t think overloading your brain with information from a cell phone is the way to do that,” Dolph said, hands still around Neville’s wrists, shaking slightly.

“So, I’m your prisoner, until then?” Neville asked, hearing the vitriol in his own voice. He felt a stab of uncomfortable guilt when Dolph’s eyes flicked across his expression, clearly upset, but did not entirely dissipate Neville’s anger. Dolph dropped his grip and let his hands hang by his thighs defeatedly.

“ _Please_ ,” Dolph whispered. He opened his mouth, then closed it, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. They were chest-to-chest, but Dolph stepped aside so that Neville could move past him.

Neville shouldered past on purpose, and decided he would retrieve his championship title from the bedroom and spend some time with it in one of Dolph’s guest rooms. It would surely be better company.

 

* * *

 

It was well after dark, and Dolph had felt gradually more and more rotten all day. Eventually he couldn’t hold his concentration on written word, so he retired to the lounge room to watch whatever stand up was showing on one of the comedy channels. It happened to be Todd Barry, who Dolph highly enjoyed, but he couldn’t bring himself to laugh at all. None of the jokes seemed even remotely funny. _God, I’m fucking depressed over this, aren’t I?_ Dolph asked himself, and that was the first thing since he turned on the television that seemed laughable.

Dolph’s heart flipped in his chest when he heard someone enter the room, and it was Neville. They looked at each other curiously.

“Calmed down yet?” Dolph asked in an effort to save face, which was maybe a touch too harsh. He expected Neville to get mad again and braced himself for impact, but Neville just nodded solemnly.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Dolph exhaled, feeling his heart go soft. “It’s alright,” he said, and dragged the footstool he had been using next to his armchair, patting the material invitingly. Neville blinked at the invitation, closing up a bit, then seemed to give into himself and nodded. The thing about Neville that Dolph had discovered after two turbulent- turbulent, but _wonderful_ \- years together was that he desperately wanted to be romanced. He wanted to be loved like they had never loved before, and Dolph was convinced that no-one ever had- not properly. Neville always spoke fondly about his romance with Corey Graves, but Dolph couldn’t work out who in their right mind would ever dump someone like Neville for someone like Finn Balor on such a whim. That wasn’t true love. And Neville craved to be swept off his feet, even if he didn’t realise it himself.

“I want to show you something?” Dolph asked experimentally.

Neville didn’t say anything, but regarded Dolph for a moment, then nodded.

Dolph felt the muscles in his shoulders relax, where he hadn’t realised he’d been tensing them, and reached for the remote. He kept his eyes fixed on the large television monitor, navigating the menus into his external harddrive, but could feel Neville’s gaze on him. There was a folder marked ‘ **Matches** ’ and inside, a chronological list of years. Neville inhaled sharply next to him, probably seeing the years ‘ **2016** ’ and ‘ **2017** ’ and immediately went to swipe the remote. Despite Neville being the faster of the two, Dolph assumed he might try to take control and stole his hand as far away as possible.

It was then Dolph realised how _close_ Neville’s face had become, his arm outstretched for the remote but not quite reaching it. His other hand was leveraged on Dolph’s thigh and he could feel a wonderful warmth through the thin fabric of his shorts. Dolph felt heat rushing to his cheeks, wondering if Neville could hear the wild beating of his heart. Neville seemed to, sucking in a breath of his own, but didn’t move. There was a pulling sensation between them- a magnetic force- just like there always had been.

 _Oh god, you’re beautiful_ , Dolph sighed to himself, not daring to move, despite wanting desperately to kiss him. Yesterday felt like a millennia ago, before Neville had lost his memory, and Dolph was experiencing the teenage-like trepidation of being attracted to him all over again. A tremor surged through Neville’s arm before he shook his head lightly, as if he was pulling himself out of a daydream. Then, he pulled away and sat back onto the stool, leaving a handprint of hot and cold tingles on Dolph’s thigh.

“Sorry,” Neville grumbled, crossing his arms and hunching as he focused on the television, but his cheeks were just as flushed as Dolph’s where. “I just..”

“It’s okay,” Dolph said back quietly, clearing his throat. He knew Neville wanted answers about who he was now and how he had become Cruiserweight Champion. “I don’t want to overwhelm you. So we should take it slow... and chronological.”

Neville only grunted in abject agreement so Dolph delved into the ‘ **2015** ’ folder, and then to ‘ **04.16.15 Neville vs Sheamus** ’. His finger hovered over the play button.

“You okay?” Dolph turned to Neville, who looked quite pale. Neville nodded.

Dolph had rewatched this match more times than he could count, and could sense every action before it happened. _And now the hurricanrana.. flying off the ropes into a plancha.. perfect as always. I love the way his hair falls over his face like that. He probably could have waited awhile to soak up more of the audience’s attention, but I know he was angry and impulsive that night and it always ends up being his downfall._ Dolph tore himself from his thoughts to look at the real, slightly older Neville who was glued to the screen, chest heaving in slow breaths. His hand was on his knee, balled into a fist that trembled slightly. He winced slightly as Sheamus dropped him unceremoniously from a great height.

 _Phoenix splash and the crowd goes wild_ , Dolph commentated silently, attention back to the screen, grimacing when Sheamus kicked out. The match spilled outside and Sheamus picked up Neville to throw him down on the announcer’s table, earning himself a disqualification.

“Oi?!” Neville yelled abruptly, making Dolph jump and when he turned his gaze, Neville was on his feet, fists at his sides. Dolph felt a little guilty, watching the real Neville’s expressions closely as Sheamus dragged him back into the ring and proceeded to stomp his knee into his face over and over. “You bastard, come on then, you bastard,” Neville yelled at the television, “I'll show you what I bloody well am."

Dolph’s heart was right up in his throat, staring back to the television, knowing what part came next. _Where are you, where are you?_ he thought to himself hopelessly, _You should be there to save him already, what’s taking you so long?_

Finally, Dolph’s visage appeared on the screen, donning his old style of hotpants, careening down to the ring. He crashed into Sheamus’ back before throwing an unbroken barrage of punches until Sheamus was forced to roll out of the ring and flee in a sorry state, away from Dolph- away from his babe.

Neville had taken a half step back and frozen, eyes wide at the television and his mouth slightly parted in awe. On screen, the Neville from the past thanked his saviour as Dolph put an arm around him endearingly. In real life, Neville turned back to look at him and seemed to hesitate for a split second, Dolph could see the muscles in his jaw clench and unclench before he spoke. “Why did you do that?”

Dolph felt himself smile without meaning too. “Because I love you,” he confessed quietly, “I did then, too, before I realised what the feeling actually meant.”

Neville sat back down on the stool, and shifted it closer so there was only an inch between their knees. Dolph could smell the warmth of his familiar aroma. Something seemed to happen to the atmosphere between them and Dolph could feel his heart thumping in his chest as he made the conscious choice to make contact.

“ _Oh_ ,” Neville’s breath hitched as Dolph placed his hand on Neville’s thigh, just above the knee. Like some miracle, Neville didn’t flinch or jerk away, but his eyes were a stormy tempest and Dolph’s chest pained to know the thoughts that were filling Neville’s mind at that moment.

Curiously, tentatively, Neville raised a hand to trail fingers across Dolph’s jawline and Dolph took a short breath in the thick air between them which now felt inexplicably pronounced. Neville’s hand only paused for a moment, before sliding to cup his cheek and Dolph leant into his touch lovingly.

“ _Babe_ ,” Dolph breathed, moving his fingers slightly and gently squeezing Neville’s thigh. He heard Neville stifle a small noise, eyes snapping down to where Dolph’s hand was caressing the skin just under the hem of his sweatshorts. Neville’s cheeks were burning and his breath had become shallow and uneven. Slowly, Neville looked up to meet Dolph’s eye again and even though Dolph already loved this man more than anyone or thing in the entire universe, he felt himself falling deeply and profoundly all over again.

Neville’s thumb grazed across Dolph’s cheek, touching his bottom lip. Dolph could feel his own heart hammering painfully against his ribcage as Neville dragged his thumbprint slowly from side to side, Dolph’s lip squishing under the touch. A full flush had risen to Neville's cheeks, and he blinked rapidly, swallowing hard. “Nev,” Dolph whispered this time.

Neville shook his head shortly, strangely innocent, like it was not the time nor place to speak. Dolph inhaled shakily, feeling heat pool between his legs and with his own hand, he slid slowly up Neville’s leg, massaging in tiny, tentative circles on the inside of his thigh. Dolph moved his tongue forward so the next time Neville swept his thumb, it ran across the wet, warm part of his mouth.

“ _Hh_ -” Neville suppressed a moan, staring at Dolph intently with knitted brows. Dolph’s tongue wandered, sweeping over the knuckle of Neville’s thumb before taking the full digit into his mouth. _This is so erotic_ , Dolph thought and nearly laughed at the absurdity of it. What they were doing was _nothing_ compared to the lewd escapades they had previously participated in. Gross indecency, their growing collection of toys, that threesome they’d had that one time. It all seemed to pale in comparison to the effect that this was having on him, evident by the deafening thrumming of his heartbeat in his ears and the ache of his erection from the way Neville’s skin felt against his cheek and in his mouth.

"I- _ah_ -" Neville gasped, voice breaking. “Oh, oh _g-god,_ I-”

Dolph groaned at the sounds Neville was making, and moved his mouth down Neville’s hand to his wrist, with the tip of Dolph’s tongue, slowly.

"Ziggler, I- _hnn_ -"

Dolph paused. His closed eyes flew open, and wrenched his lips from Neville’s wrist. He stole back his own hand from Neville’s thigh, rubbing it as if he’d touched a hot pan accidentally. Neville referring to him by his surname was horribly formal and sobering, and had the reverse effect on the wonderful, profound passion which had ignited inside him. _You still don’t remember me, do you_? Dolph implored Neville’s eyes silently.

Neville looked hurt and also sort of guilty. He stood suddenly and Dolph could see how hard he was also through his sweatshorts. _Damn_ , Dolph’s stomach fell in an awful way and Neville turned his cheek, embarrassed.

“I’m going to go to bed,” Neville said, the colour draining from his face and took a step back. “In the guest room, yes,” he added, before Dolph could offer the master bedroom, which was what he was going to do.

 _Mindreader_ , Dolph thought bitterly, and sunk into the armchair, too tired to try and persuade him otherwise.

“Goodnight,” Neville said.

“Goodnight,” Dolph echoed deflatedly.

Neville hesitated for half a second then turned and retreated quickly. Dolph saw him rake his fingers through his hair just before he disappeared into the foyer.

"That went well," Dolph muttered aloud, and rubbed a firm hand over his face. His fingertips lingered on his mouth, overwhelmed by the bizarrely erotic interaction they had just shared.

 _I’ll fix you_ , Dolph promised, turning his gaze back to the space where Neville had just stood. _I’ll help you remember, and then everything will go back to normal. I promise, babe._ After a moment, he sighed tiredly and relaxed deeper into the armchair, deciding to close his eyes for a minute or two.

**Author's Note:**

> I usually don't like amnesia au's, but I've been very inspired by some fics I've read recently. This is an experiment with pacing, and general attempts at improvement. I didn't quite expect the first chapter to blow out past 6k words but here we are.
> 
> If you read it, thank you, and please let me know what you think! Comments, even the little ones, make me so happy :)


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